This time next year…

As I was spooning coffee granules in to Addison’s bottle and formula in to my coffee mug this morning, it dawned on me just how mentally and physically drained I am feeling.

I glanced up at the calendar on the wall to see a beautiful photograph taken this time last year of a tiny little Woo lying in his pram wearing a pair of shades and clutching a teething toy for dear life. I remember that day as clear as if it was only yesterday, we had barely slept and with The Irish One just about to return to work I had decided, after another full night of no sleep to try and shed some of the much unwanted baby weight and take little baby Addison for a walk in his pram. The sun was shining, my stitches were a itching and I pulled on my pre pregnancy jeans full of hope.

We are going out today little one! Just you and mammy!

After 17 outfit changes, one strop from me, a minor strop from Addison and a bit of excitement off Doodle we finally managed to leave the house. We were like the three amigos, one with a full nappy, one covered in baby sick and one walking on all fours. (I could be either of those last two.)

We walked to MacDonald’s (the Holy Grail), where I bought a coffee, let Woo have a daydream and Doodle a bit of a sniff  and a roam around a discarded burger. I hung around outside wondering what to do next not accustomed to having all this time to do nothing (and everything) by myself and slowly began my new commute home.  

Not being in work was unsettling. Watching cars drive past, full of people with places to go and people to see, I looked down at my sleeping new-born and down to my happy poodle and thought there must be something wrong with me. I should be enjoying this time off shouldn’t I? Why do I feel so lost? Why do I feel like something is missing? My son is beautiful, the days are our own and life has slowed down (and sped up) at a new pace.

I will get used to it, I thought to myself pulling my jumper down over my empty bump ashamedly and shuffling back up across the road.

This time next year, I will be slim again; I will have had a full night’s sleep and Addison will be able to toddle along with me. This time next year, I thought to myself, all this learning and adjusting will be over and I will be settled in to the mammy role properly. This time next year, I will be just getting back to work and Addison will be making friends at nursery. This time next year will be perfect and all these worries I have now I will be able to look back on and laugh.

We continued on home with the thoughts of an afternoon of sterilizing on my mind. We were just reaching the last bend and I was breathing like an elephant from all the exertion when Addison coughed up half his previous bottle and nearly choked. My rush to get him unwrapped and upright, caused me to fumble with the brake on the pram, drop the dogs lead and spill a half empty cup of steaming hot coffee, all over my hands, down my front and on to my exposed flip flopped toes. Racing for the lead, holding the tiny baby and trying not to cry, I thought to myself, this time next year this will all be a distant memory.  

This time next year is my light at the end of the tunnel.

Fast forward back to this morning and here I am spooning Starbucks instant Via, full powered coffee in to my sons breakfast bottle.  Yes I have learnt a hell of a lot this year, I think to myself turning around and walking full on, in to an open cupboard door and nearly knocking myself out. I have learnt a hell of a lot.

The first thing being that maybe the fuses have blown in the tunnel.

• I have learnt to never EVER take for granted anesthetic. (Stitching round two? Sans numbness? Not so fun!)
• I have learnt to never underestimate the power of hormones (especially in relation to objects not nailed down.)
• I have learnt that not eating, means zero energy and minimal weight loss (and a pan au chocolate binge at the end of the day.)
• I have learnt to beat myself up over the smallest failings.
• I have learnt to beat myself up, over beating myself up over the smallest failings.
•  I have learnt that blue carpet will not hide white baby sick, no matter how hard I scuff it with my toe, as the doorbell rings.
• I have learnt to do what my gut tells me and only take advice if I absolutely believe in the advice myself. (Nothing wrong with him you say, give him proper milk, you say?)
• I have learnt I am not the perfect mother as she doesn’t exist.
• I have learnt to not pick arguments, but save myself for the hum-dingers.
• I have learnt having a baby is a massive strain on your relationship but you can get through it. Together. (But keep a spade on hand, just in case.)
• I have learnt the words to every single Bear in the big blue house episode, and now, most of Toy story 1 and 2 too.
• I have learnt that it is ok to cry. Just try not to do it at the supermarket quite so much. (Now I know why the check-out girls see me coming and grimace.)
• I have learnt to trust in myself, in those I care for and ignore those who‘s only purpose is to criticize, condemn and complain.
• I have learnt that no matter how much I screw my eyes closed and pray, morning still comes 20 minutes after I have shut my eyes. And then every half an hour on the hour until 6am.
• I have learnt that making a rod for your own back, is hard, but well worth it for those special moments I have enjoyed cozying up with my favourite boy.
• I have learnt patience. (Slowly.) And
• I have learnt,  that no matter what, I am always right. (Ahem.)

This time last year I was waiting for the light to be switched on at the end of the tunnel, and in many ways I am still waiting now.

But one thing is for sure. I am a different person this year to who I was last year. Yes, I am still a bumbling, grumbling, dizzy, overweight, unfit and struggling mother who is still trying to learn to function on minimal sleep and maximum hormonal imbalance but I am also beginning to understand, this time next year is a whole year away. Why not try to relish the here and now a little more? Why not try to accept present circumstances, a little more.

It is as I go to put the murky brown bottle to my sons mouth, and take a sip of piss yellow soya tea, that I laugh out loud and look down to see my little boy looking up at me, his eyes too, shining with laughter.   

‘Mammy,’ he seems to say ‘you are a goose, and you will still be a goose this time next year! Now go make me another bottle…’

And off I trot, but not before kicking the dog’s water bowl in to the door and drenching the car seat waiting in the hall.

This time next year I will be asleep, I think to myself hopefully, right before slipping arse over tit on the water, and nearly braining myself on the radiator.

This time next year I will be asleep.

An introduction to Northern mummy with southern children.

All this week i will be introducing you to some more fantasic blogging sites. The reason behind this being, i love to read. And i want to share with you a couple of my favourite blogs. My first being this young lady from Up north who now lives Down south! This was one of the first blogs i found and it inspired me to start my own. Without further adue, I give you the hilarious, and very talented, inspiring and truly lovely yummy mummy! @northernmum1.

You will find the link to her site on my blog roll, and at the bottom of this post. And in my Iphone. And on my fridge. And on the pc at my mums house, and my dads house… and in the apple store… i am a big fan…

The cost of a third child.

I do like a bit of guest blogging, and even better when I get to blog up here in manchester.  Not quite my home town but it’ll do.

Sorry I should introduce myself properly.  My name is mummmmmmmmy, I used to have another one but it was such a long time since anyone used it I have completely forgotten it.  I have three children, twin boy, twin girl and baby beautiful; again upon their arrival into the world I did give them ‘real’ names but I suffer badly from baby brainitis so most days it is easier to refer to them by their gender or developmental stage.  I also share my home with he who helped create them, but true to form in the blogging world he does little but work, sleep, fart and watch football.  Should you wish to read more on these topics I suggest you head over to either Top Gear or Soccer am’s site immediately.

Although now I come to think of it trumping played a role in the conception of baby beautiful.  I had been banging on about having another baby since the twins could crawl, some would say because of my love for the little creatures, ones that know me better would argue it is because I am a lazy sod who enjoys coffee mornings on maternity leave far too much.  Anyways after the stress of raising two bambinos at once he who helped create them was not as keen to bring another rather demanding mouth into the world.

However as my mother will tell you I have a tenancy to ‘keep on’ and it took me three years but my dedication to moaning, and writing letters to santa entitled ‘I want a baby’ seemed to be paying off as we approached easter 2009. 

The first sign was when he who helped create them wouldn’t let me ebay the car seats, because we may need them again.  The next sign was when I caught him musing through photos of the twins in their baby years with a cute half smile on his face.  The final clue that he had finally been worn down was when he lay in bed one night after a most delicious curry and asked me;

” How much do you want another baby?”

My response was a mix of desperation, pleaing and guilt inducing cries of;

“More than anything”

He turned to me lovingly and smiled as a sound barrier breaking noise erupted under the sheets and the whiff of vindaloo reached my delicate nostrils.

“If you can put your head under the blanket for two minutes now we try for another baby.”

And there it is twelve months on, baby beautiful lies contentedly in her cot and I still feel a sense of shame as I make my bed on the morning.

just one more thing I have done for my children!

Find more hilarious tales at www.northernmum.wordpress.com



So much for being a stepford wife…

One of the very first Blogs I ever found and fell in love with was www.Thisismommyhood.com.

Her name is Elle and she is a mother to a toddler who is like a hummingbird on crack. Her blog title made me howl with laughter and her humorous and beautiful way with words had me hooked from day dot. It was her, amongst few others, that inspired me to start this blog. It was Elle that taught me it was ok to admit to being a little less than perfect, it was Elle that taught me that being a little less than perfect could be great reading! Today I am lucky enough to add to my blog,  a guest post from Elle herself.  Visit Elle’s  blog over at www.thisismommyhood.com. ENJOY!!

  So much for being a stepford wife. I’m as undomestic as they come….

When I was younger I thought when I got married and had kids I would be Martha Stewart before I knew Martha existed. I thought I would always have dinner ready when my husband got home from work. I thought I would be a cleaning goddess and everything would sparkle like a Mr. Clean commercial.

I thought I would be crafty and teach myself to knit, learn how to use a sewing machine and make my future kids costumes for Halloween and school plays. I thought I would be a perfect hostess to friends while making an effortless meal without breaking a sweat.

I thought I would be perfectly dressed, not a hair out-of-place, make-up always flawless. I thought every word that would come out of my mouth would be kind and encouraging to my husband. I thought my MIL and I would be best friends (okay that might be pushing it). Oh, the beauty of only being 10 years old when I thought these things.

I guess I thought I would be some pod person, some stepford wife, some robot. Then I got married over 15 years ago and reality set in. If your trying to do the math, I’m 24 years old…..in my dreams. Try as I might, and I do try, I can’t cook if my life depended on it. I found out very quickly that I hate cooking. The microwave and I have developed a very special bond over the years.

I like things to be clean yet I’m not a cleaning goddess by any means. I tried to teach myself to knit years ago. That lasted, um, maybe a week. I still have an interest in learning to sew but right now I don’t even know where I’d find the time with a toddler.

After several years of marriage we’ve only had friends over TWICE for dinner. The first time my hubby did the cooking. He also accidentally set plastic wrap on a burner that was on….I can still smell it. The second time, I did the cooking and made a Mexican feast.

To put it bluntly, it sucked balls. The dinner I made was fine but most of the time that our friends were over, I was stuck in the kitchen all sweaty and cursing like a sailor. It was definitely not the nice, relaxing evening with friends that I had hoped it would be.

I spend most of my days, not in perfect outfits, but in yoga pants and a t-shirt. Sometimes it’s a shirt and my pajama boxers. Those are the days when even yoga pants are a little too fancy schmancy for me. When it comes to wearing make-up, Ha! I’ve only worn it once in the past couple of months.

I do take some time to do my hair or I just feel blah all day. I have naturally wavy hair and if I just blow-dry it I look like Bozo the Clown so I have to straighten it too. Even by putting in my best efforts, I usually have a bad hair day most days.

There are times when my husband annoys me to the core of my being and I say things to him that I regret as soon as they come out of my mouth. We don’t fight very often but when I try to discuss something with him, it’s like talking to a brick wall.

I always tell him I’m sorry but that’s not good enough for me. I need to work on keeping the snarky remarks to myself. Better yet I should just put them on twitter. When we do argue (meaning me arguing and the hubby just standing there with a blank look on his face) it’s about pretty typical things when it comes to a couple who’s been married for over 15 years.

The longer that we’re together, the better our relationship becomes so I think that’s a very good sign. We’re both improving. A lot of the relationships I saw when I was younger consisted of yelling matches and marriage getting worse year after year. I actually used to think that’s the way relationships were supposed to be.

When it comes to my MIL, I’ve pretty much given up. I know that the relationship she had with her mother-in-law was really bad. My husband has told me how things were usually very cold between them. What’s ironic is I feel my MIL is basically treating me how her MIL treated her and she doesn’t even seem to realize it.

She actually commented before about how she doesn’t understand MIL drama and that she’s so easy to get along with. I just nodded and on the inside I was laughing my ass off. I still am.

When my husband’s grandmother was alive I would hear how she made my MIL feel bad. Then my MIL would tell me how frustrating it was. Um, hello? She questions everything I do and puts me down. It’s more like she body slams my feelings. So for now things are civil but I do wish she could treat me with just a little decency.

I’m a less than perfect cook who loves yoga pants sans doing the actual yoga, who’s never going to like cleaning and can’t sew, who sometimes lashes out at my husband and whose relationship with my MIL is lacking.

I still have issues with not being the perfect phucking stepford wife but it’s something I’m becoming okay with. What’s made me realize I need to accept who I really am is my daughter. She doesn’t care about all of those other things. She just wants love and cuddles. And whatever I have on my plate therefore leaving me hungry most of the time.

What’s something you thought you would do differently?

The Mummy Club.

At school I was the kind of girl that always, without fail, was picked last for any type of team sports. Hang on; I feel I need to labour this point. I was the kind of girl that got picked last for any kind of team sports even at my own birthday party. If there was ever any clubs invented and assembled by the popular girls in the school or even the popular girls in my class, I was never ever part of them. Not through lack of trying either, let me tell you. I endured the initiation tests and humiliation routines endlessly but unfortunately for me I was just never cool enough. I was the girl the ‘cool’ guy in school would call and take the Mickey out of. (I put cool in inverted comma’s here because this ‘cool’ guy is called Tony and last time I saw him he was still living off mummy and daddy and is a complete loser. So from here on in I will refer to him as the tool guy. Because really, what a total tool! Not that Im still bitter…..)

So basically I was the girl all the other girls would look at and think ….well that’s just it! They looked at me and didn’t think. They didn’t think at all.

I wasn’t big, (not that, that should matter) I wasn’t dressed badly, (not that, that should matter) I wasn’t short (you get the picture.) I wasn’t unfit or unhealthy with smelly feet or stupidly tall. My boobs weren’t enormous; I wasn’t so flat I could make a wall jealous. I didn’t say stupid things in class, I wasn’t the joker, and I wasn’t super intelligent. I was just blah. Non-descript. My nickname wasn’t ‘sexy Lexy’ as I would have liked. Oh no. My nickname was ‘Lampy.’ Because with my thick brown hair cut in a bob (thanks mum) and my bony physique I looked like a lampshade. I shit you not. Kids can be so cruel.

Thankfully things moved on after I left school, I got rid of the bob and I made a life for myself. I met a few boys, some idiots and one finally I decided to keep. Had a few jobs – some boring others that included dressing like a huge mouse and dancing in parades. I lived in a few cities – some crap, others that included showing your boobs for beads at certain times of the year. I had a few drinks, some soft; some that made me go a bit crazy. I have been fat, I have been big, I have been thin, I have said stupid things, I have been the joker, and I have had smelly feet. Courtesy of wonder-bra, my boobs have been big, small, hard, soft, and at times free (I blame New Orleans for that one), but still I have never ever been part of a club. The slightest inkling of a club or ‘clique’ forming around in me in my adult life and I would run for the hills.

 Even now the word club fills me with a sense of dread. Clubs are for cool people. And although I have been many things. Im not sure I have ever been truly cool.

However, and this is a BIG however, I realised this morning as I was crossing the road, (after almost dying pushing the pram up a slight incline) and as two other mothers were coming the other way, I have undeniably, like it or not, without realising, become part of a huge great big sodding club!

And you know what?  It’s actually not that horrendous.

There is, in my opinion, still a hierarchy. I realise this by what some refer to as the ‘mummy once over’. For those still pregnant, you will come across this once you are pushing a pram. It can be quite odd, quite annoying, but also quite funny. It goes a little like this. Feel free to correct me or add nuances if need be.

Mother stranger crosses paths with another Mother stranger.

Look up, try and keep it casual.

Slight eye contact but only for a second.

Slight, but not too forward acknowledgement of situation.

And GO!

Quick glance at;

• State of mother. (Outfit, hair, shoes, general ‘coolness’ of other mother. Is she getting as much or as little sleep as you? Is she relaxed, happy, flustered?)
• Pram. (Is it cooler? comfier? Cosier? More expensive? How many wheels does it have?)
• Weight loss. (Belly particularly – this tells you if you are doing well or not, then boobs, face and finally ankles – if you can see them! (NB I find the other woman ALWAYS wins on this…)
• And finally.. Baby. (How old is baby? (This helps with earlier weight loss summation.) Is it a he or she? Is he or she cute? Cuter than your baby? (You always win this one so don’t worry!) By this point a lot of women have to turn to look. And when this happens, and you see it out of the corner of your eye. You deserve a smile to yourself. You aren’t going mad.. it did actually happen and the fact you didn’t turn means you’ve won…

 And carry on walking casually…  

And now for the results!….

 At the top end of the hierarchy you have Yummy. The head held high, beautifully clad, immaculate mothers with smiling babies. At mid way down you have the average head held height, averagely dressed, made an effort with a splash of make-up with sleeping babies, mothers. And then you have, well…. me. The mother who is still a bit podgy round the middle, dressed in the first thing I grabbed before leaving the house (sometimes I get out to find random garment is on inside out), no makeup (because after the night ive had it would only slide off my face) and a baby covered in this morning’s breakfast. (He will only sleep in the maxicosi and wiping his face wakes him up. Ok? OK!)

 There is a catch though. And it’s a fabulous catch! The difference with this hierarchy is its interchangeable! You can move up and down on a daily basis. This basically means at any given time, you could be right on top! Smiling for all the world to see! Look at me! Look at me! I made it out and I look half decent! But it also means no mother can act too smug. Because the mothers at the top also realise, that tomorrow is a new day. And depending on how tonight goes….tomorrow you could be back in the slummy category. Which is why, when you do find yourself at the top of your perch. Enjoy it! Tomorrow is likely someone else’s turn!

 I find it to be a club where you can exchange knowing glances, be overly expressant – and that’s ok! Chat to people you have never met about nipple torture and stitches and teething solutions. The state of your bladder, your stretch marks and your wieght loss. About how annoying/helpful or downright horny the man in your life is. (Already! I know! What am I a fair ground ride?? Give it a month for god sake!)

 The one rule of the club, I have gathered, is honesty. There is no point lying to another mother, as chances are, she has been there and will see through you immediately! If you feel like crap, admit it! That’s ok apparently. The Mums seem to be supportive of one another. If I admit to wanting to run away and hide when he cries, that seems to be ok too. When I admit I was a little freaked to find I was having a boy, that seemed to be ok. When I admitted, in tears, to not bonding the second I saw him – that was ok too. I was thanked for my honesty! It’s like having a huge network of random strangers, all going, or having been through the same or similar things. All sharing, laughing, spouting crap and understanding one another.

 So when an old (single) school friend of mine recently visited and insisted ‘you must be so bored now you just sit around all day, on your own, with nothing to do but a baby’ I just smiled, because I have thousands of friends now. Maybe even millions. And they understand, like me, that statement couldn’t be further from the truth. I am not on my own and I am not bored!  I am part of a club. A club she may one day join. But a club, finally I am cool enough to be part of.  The mummy club! And Im dead happy. Cos you’re all lovely!